Eight Hours
by Qzil
Summary: Sam upholds his promise to protect Meg and rescues her from Crowley. In the aftermath, the Winchesters rope her into being the demon they cure for the last trial. Heavy AU.
1. Injection

Pulling her blade out of Crowley's shoulder, Meg braced herself for what she was sure would be his death-blow, staring straight into his eyes. She would die, defiant to the end, so that her boys and her unicorn could live and close the Gates, taking Crowley down when they did.

"What the Hell?" she screamed when Sam leapt from the car and rushed toward them. Crowley turned his head slightly and let out a scream when Sam splashed holy water over both of them. Meg fell to the ground, screaming with Crowley as the holy water burned into her already-damaged vessel.

"C'mon, Meg!" Sam yelled, tugging her to her feet. She stumbled and fell to the ground once, blinded by the holy water. The asphalt scraped her palms as Sam scooped her up and ran with her toward the car, her flesh still smoking.

Her vision cleared as Sam slammed her in the backseat and the car sped away. Cautiously, she sat up and stared at Crowley out the back window where he stood, furiously staring after the car, smoke still rising off his vessel. She smirked and raised her middle finger at him through the glass.

"What the Hell, Sam?" Dean shouted from the front seat.

"Cas told me to protect her!" Sam snapped, turning in his seat to look at her. "She's still injured, Dean."

"Well, thanks for that," Meg drawled, turning away from the window. "You can let me out now and I'll be on my merry way."

"I don't think so," Dean spat. "If you're not dead, this time we're gonna keep an eye on you."

Meg narrowed her eyes at him. "If I wasn't still injured from getting tortured by Crowley's goons, I'd reach around this seat and strangle you."

"That's why we're not letting you out of our sight this time," Dean said. "Every time you show up you just try to fuck us over again."

"Not true," Meg muttered, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Too injured to teleport from the car, she silently cursed Crowley for branding her with a sigil that left her unable to abandon her current vessel. She turned inward and tried to focus her power on healing herself, ignoring the Winchesters arguing in the front seat.

When she opened her eyes again, the boys were pulling up to a gas station. Without waiting for permission, she slid out of the car and strode toward the restroom, no longer limping. Without looking in the mirror above the sink, she opened the tap and splashed the yellowish water on her face. As soon as her skin stopped feeling dry from the blood, she swished some water around in her mouth to wash the taste of metal and sulfur from it. When she spit into the sink, the water ran pink for a moment before it washed down the drain. She turned off the tap and braced her hands on the metal, finally looking at herself in the mirror.

Clear of the blood, she could finally see the extent of Crowley's damage to her face. Yellowish bruises were smeared across her skin from his punches, and when she pulled the bandages Castiel had put on her wrists aside, she saw that, while better, the wounds were still an angry, discolored red and puffy at the edges. She rotated them and winced at the burn, turning on the tap again to run water over them. Finally, she snapped her broken nose back into place with a small yelp.

In the dingy gas station bathroom, she couldn't examine all her injuries, but she could feel them. She winced again when she shifted and her shirt came unstuck from her back, some of the fresher wounds opening again.

"Yo, Meg, you done taking a piss?" Dean shouted, tapping on the door. She rolled her eyes and shut the tap off again.

"Keep your pants on, shortbus!" she called back, running her damp fingers through her hair and making a face when she caught a snag. Schooling her face into her trademark smirk, she swung the door open. "Were you afraid I flushed myself down the toilet? As fun as it would be to take a trip to the Ministry of Magic, I don't think it works like that."

"Yeah, keep smiling," Dean said, slapping a strip of leather around her wrist and tightening it. She snarled down at it when she saw the sigils that decorated the bracelet and tried to jerk her wrist from his grasp, only to find herself immobile.

"Asshole," she snarled. Dean smirked and bent down to hoist her over his shoulder. She grunted and felt the wounds on her back open again as he walked her to the car and tossed her into the backseat. Dean tied and identical bracelet to her other wrist and slammed the door, jarring her feet.

"Dude, you could be a little less of an asshole," Sam said, glancing back at her. She snarled at him from the backseat, wincing when Dean slammed his door and the car rocked. Turning her head toward the seat and closing her eyes, Meg once again concentrated on healing her body.

_The first thing I'm gonna do when I get outta here is burn that damn sigil off my meatsuit,_ she thought, concentrating on her back.

.

"You carry her in," Dean said to Sam when they stopped again. Meg rolled her eyes when Sam opened the back door and leaned over her.

"I can walk, you know," she snapped as he grabbed her arms. "You even saw me kill a couple of those demons."

"Then you nearly got killed by Crowley," Sam said, rolling his eyes right back at her.

"I'm not thanking you for the holy water trick," she told him as Sam slid her out of the car.

"Didn't expect you to," he grunted as he picked her up. She glanced around as Sam closed the car door with his boot.

"Where the Hell are we?" she asked. "It looks like the first ten minutes of a horror movie."

"Somewhere safe," Sam answered, turning around and walking toward a small door.

Meg shifted in Sam's arms. "If I promise to be a good girl and not bolt, will you put me down? I'll bat my eyes real pretty and everything." Sam glared at her, and she let her face slide into an innocent expression. "Pretty please?"

"Shut up, Meg," Dean growled, opening the door. "Cas told us to protect you, so we are."

Meg wrinkled her nose. "I'd like a shower instead." Dean huffed as he led them into the bunker, and Meg stared around, taking in the books and the homey furniture. "When did you guys get a Batcave?"

"It was a long year," Sam said dryly, setting her in a chair.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Yeah, I know. Can I get a shower now?"

.

After her shower, Meg paced around the warded room the Winchesters had locked her in. Captivity was, for the most part, boring. She paced, read the outdated magazines scattered about the room, and went through the closets to find some clean clothing that actually fit her.

For the most part, she concentrated on healing herself. As the days past she watched the marks from Crowley's torture fade from her vessel, the wounds closing themselves up and the scars turning back into smooth, unblemished skin. She lost count of the days until the Winchesters came back into the room, their faces pale but triumphant.

"Hello, boys. Here to give me last rites?" she asked, rolling over on the bed. "Or do I get a last request before you slam me back down into Hell?"

"We're not gonna slam you back down into Hell," Dean said, smirking. "You're gonna be the last trial, Meg."

She raised her eyebrows at them and laughed. "What?"

"The last trial is to cure a demon," Sam explained.

"Are you two stupid? You can't cure a demon," Meg said, rolling her eyes. The Winchesters stared at her. "You two are serious? How does that even work?"

"You get eight injections of pure blood on hallowed ground, and then a bloody hand to the face with a modified exorcism," Sam told her. "After that, you're human, and the gates are closed. Crowley and the rest of the demons stay in, and you stay out."

"As a human," she said slowly, looking between them. "I think I'll pass and take my chance down in Hell."

"Well, it was you or Crowley," Dean said, smiling at her.

Meg frowned and narrowed her eyes at them. "You have Crowley?"

"In our dungeon, safe and sound," Dean told her.

Meg got up from the bed and looked at Sam. "Give me Crowley and I'll do it," she said, sliding her angel blade from her jacket. "I want him dead." Without answering, Sam scratched away the devil's trap on the door and allowed her to walk into the hallway. "So, how come I got the cushy cell and not a trip to the dungeon with all the fun toys?"

"We just found it," Sam said, shrugging.

"I can't believe you two are still alive," she drawled, following Sam down the hallway.

"There were a few times we weren't," Sam pointed out, opening another door. "He's in here." Meg stared at the devil's trap that covered the floor before her eyes rested on Crowley in the middle of it, tied to a chair with some sort of collar around his neck.

"Kinky, Sam," she commented, stepping into the room.

"Well, if it isn't a whore and a Winchester," Crowley said, smiling at them. "What is it with you and demons, Moose? Tell me, are you chugging her blood yet?"

"Shut up, Crowley," Sam snapped. Meg watched him silently, eyes darting the assortment of torture instruments on the wall.

Crowley watched her. "I see. You brought the whore in for a little playtime."

"As much as I'd like to do that, Crowley, a direct approach is the better one," she said, walking farther into the room. "I'm not gonna get slammed in with all the other demons, but neither are you. I'd love to see you scramble for power down there when they lock you all in, but I really, really want to do this." She tapped her blade against her lips and smirked.

"How are you going to do that?" Crowley asked, smirking back at her.

"I've got a get out of jail free card," she told him, springing forward and driving her angel blade into his heart. She twisted it and smiled when he choked, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "This is for Lucifer, and for me, and for them, _your highness_." She twisted the blade again, stopping only when the light faded from Crowley's face and his vessel went limp in the chair.

Meg stepped away, wiping her blade on Crowley's suit and tucking it back in her jacket. She walked back to the doorway and stared at Sam over the trap holding her hands up in a placating gesture. "Do I get to walk to the car to get to wherever we're going, or are you two gonna throw me over your shoulders caveman-style to get me there? 'Cause that could give a girl all sorts of nasty ideas."

"It's a short drive," Sam told her, scratching away a little at the trap. "I think Dean'll let you walk."

"Oh, goody."

.

"Remind me why I have to be tied up in a not-fun way?"

"In case you go all psycho bitch on us and try to kill Sam when the injections start comin'," Dean said, locking the other handcuff around her wrist.

Meg rolled her eyes and jostled the handcuffs. "You know if it wasn't for the symbols, I could just bust outta these things." She curled her hands around the arms of the chair. "How do I know you two aren't just gonna gank me and walk out?"

Dean snorted. "Right, after going through all the trouble to bring you back to the bunker and then drag you out here?"

"Hey, I don't know how you two get your jollies," she said, smirking. Dean opened his mouth to reply when the sound of wings filled the church and Castiel walked up to them, frowning. "Heya, Clarence."

"Cas, what are you doing here?" Dean yelped, jumping away.

"Dean, I need your assistance in completing the angel trials," he said, looking at Meg. "Why is she tied to a chair?"

"They're surprisingly kinky," Meg quipped, rolling her eyes. "What's this about angel trails?"

"I am going to close the gates of Heaven," he said.

"And here I was hoping to find out what sex with an angel was like when you're a human," she said dryly.

Dean's face twisted in disgust. "What d'ya need, Cas?"

"I will tell you outside, Dean. Please give me a moment with Meg," Castiel told him. Dean frowned but walked out of the church, muttering. "I did not know you were in the bunker."

She shrugged. "Not surprising. Humans lie, and they don't like me."

"Your wounds are better," he observed, looking at her face. "The ones on your true form as well."

"Well, if I'm gonna be stuck in this meatsuit for the rest of my human existence, I figured I'd better take care of it," she said.

Castiel walked closer to her and knelt, resting his hands on her knees. "Meg, I…"

"None of that sappy crap," she snapped. "We gotta do what we gotta do, Cas. If you still think you need to fix things up there, then pull on your big girl panties and do it."

"Still, I…regret how this is ending," he said quietly.

She rolled her eyes at him. "I'll watch the stooges for you, don't worry."

"Find me when your soul comes to Heaven," he ordered softly, standing up.

"Oh, please, like that's gonna-" She was cut off when he leaned down and kissed her roughly, grabbing the ponytail she'd pulled her hair into and tugging on it. "I said no sappy crap."

"A demon does not give an angel orders," he said.

Meg snorted. "You finally grow a sense of humor and you're leaving. Nice."

He smiled at her. "Goodbye, Meg," he said, walking out of the church and softly closing the door behind him.

Sam walked out of the confessional and stared at her. "Did I hear Cas?"

"Yeah, he's goin' back upstairs," she said, watching him fiddle with the needles. "How long does this take?"

"Eight hours," he answered, walking toward her. "Here we go."

Meg turned her head, baring her neck to him. "Give it to me, baby."


	2. Hour 1

Meg rolled her neck and watched Sam pace around the church, repeatedly checking the time as he did. "It hasn't been that long," she said, rubbing her neck against her shoulder to lessen the sting from the needle. "We should talk to pass the time." He glared at her from the corner of the church. "How 'bout a game, then? Why don't we play 'I Spy'? I'll start. I spy with my big, black eye, something…brown."

"Meg," Sam groaned, walking to the other end of the church.

"Do you have a guess? The walls? The floor? That weird looking stain over there? 'Cause those would all be wrong."

"Why don't you just be quiet?" he snapped.

"It's gonna be an awful boring eight hours if you don't talk to me," she told him. He ignored her and began to pace again, checking the locks and peering out the windows. "Okay, real talk. What are you two idiots gonna do when you close the gates?"

"Keep hunting, I guess," Sam muttered, walking away from the window.

"Not gonna go back to your unicorn and beg her to take you in, settle down in a nine-to-five in suburbia and have gigantor children?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"There's always something to hunt," he said. "I can't go back to Amelia and Dean can't go back to Lisa. This is it."

"That sounds depressing," she commented.

"Shut up, Meg," Sam snapped.

"We should take a vacation," she suggested.

Sam snorted. "Yeah, alright. You'll be human and then you, me, and Dean can all take a trip to Disneyland like one big, happy, normal family."

"I've never been," she said, smiling at him. "I was possessing this kid once and her parents were gonna take me, but Azazel called me back before we could go." She closed her eyes as she talked, calling up the memories. "Nice family. Little house up in Maine, a dog and a cat and this swingset in the backyard. The dad liked to make me and the mom pancakes on Saturday mornings after cartoons. The all-American TV type. Kinda regretting having to kill 'em all when he told me to."

"How many people have you possessed?" Sam asked, squinting at her.

"I dunno," she said, shrugging. "Don't look at me like that, Sam. I've been a demon for a long time. When you guys sent me back to the Pit from the Masters body it was the first time I'd been back in hundreds of years. Body-hopping is one of the easiest ways for Hell to lose track of you. Hunters, too. Humans start looking for their kids or sisters or mothers, and with the technology you all came up with, it's easy to track people down now, even if they're laying low." She shrugged again.

"It was easier when I was younger and there weren't any cameras or tracking shit. Then humans went and invented things like pictures and birth certificates. Suddenly people start noticing when you don't age or your fingerprints are all over a crime scene."

Sam stared at her. "How long have you been on Earth?"

"I don't even know how old I am," she answered. "Time in Hell is different, and even when I was human we didn't have the same system. I wasn't educated as a human, either, so I didn't exactly know how everything worked. But I remember the Crusades and the Civil War."

"Those didn't happen anywhere near each other," he said.

"I was a little too busy trying to follow the word of my Lord to really notice," she drawled. "Doing good demon things, like kicking kittens and torturing orphans."

"Really?"

"No, not really. I don't always take girls. I was a soldier in quite a few wars. I had a little fun whenever dear old dad let me up on Earth," she said, rubbing her neck into her shoulder again. "Hell, I miss him. I miss all of the old crew. They really knew what being a demon meant before Crowley took over and screwed it all. You can't make real demons by having souls wait in line for thousands of years. Doesn't break 'em right."

"You would've liked Abbadon," Sam muttered, looking away from her as Meg straightened up.

"Abbadon? _The_ Abbadon?" she asked, focusing on him. "Shit, Sam, how did you meet her?"

"She time traveled through a closet with our grandfather," he told her.

"Do you have any idea how powerful she is? She was handpicked by Lucifer to be a warrior for Hell. If anyone should've been queen after you slammed him back in the cage, it should have been her," Meg said, excitement filling her eyes. "Abbadon would know how to make demons the right way."

Sam stared. "You woud've followed her if we hadn't taken her down."

"I'm not disloyal," she snapped, gripping the arms of the chair tighter. "Abbadon was amazing to watch. She could torture better than Alastair, break you faster than anyone else in Hell. The only ones even near her on the food chain than her were Lilith and Azazel, and they still came in poor seconds."

"She tried to kill us, you know," Sam said. Meg's eyes hardened.

"How'd you do it?" she asked softly.

"Bullet with a devil's trap on it in her brain, and then we chopped her up and buried the parts separately," Sam explained. "We couldn't kill her."

"Of course you couldn't," Meg muttered, relaxing in her chair. "Y'know, you should let me move around. My ass is gonna get sore in this chair. I promise not to kill you." Sam raised his eyebrows at her. "What? I haven't lied to you since that first time. That's better than any other demon."

"You've tried to kill us more than once," Sam pointed out. "Our dad, too."

"At least I was honest about it," she huffed. "I didn't pretend to be your friend save your life just to get you to trust me so I could screw you over." She took a breath. "How did you catch Crowley, anyway?"

"He was going to kill all the people we saved," Sam answered, running a hand over his face. "He started doing it. He wanted us to stop the trails, so we faked a deal with him and tricked him. Locked some of those sigil handcuffs on him and dragged him back to the bunker."

"You were going to cure him if I didn't agree to get turned into one of you," she said slowly. "You should've just killed him. Even if he was a human, he'd still find a way to screw you. He does that."

"If he'd killed you in that alley, we would have cured him," Sam told her. "We needed him out of the way. He was killing people."

Meg raised her eyebrow. "How'd he even find out about those people? I can't even keep track of all of them." Sam muttered something she couldn't hear, even with her superior senses, and she huffed. "Wait, did he read the books?"

"You know about the books?" Sam yelped.

"I'm in them, so yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "I was holed up in this little town in Idaho after we got out of Crowley's compound, and the library had 'em all. Passed the time when I was hiding out. You guys got quite a little fanbase going on, you know? The things they write about you."

Sam shuddered. "I know."

"Oh, you found those, then?" she asked cheerfully, watching him squirm. "There's more than just the ones with you and your brother, you know. You and him and some random chicks, you and that Jess girl living happily-ever-after. There's even some of you and me." She smirked at him. "There's some of you and your daddy."

"Shut up, Meg!" he snapped, face red as he turned away from her.

She laughed. "Oh, come on. Pretty cool, though. How'd the guy know all that?"

"He was the prophet before Kevin," Sam muttered.

Meg laughed again. "No shit. Really?"

"He was an alcoholic and a little crazy," Sam said. "But, yeah, really." She didn't reply, watching as Sam got up to pace again.

"Are you sure this is gonna work?" she asked, watching him pace. "I mean, I know it works the opposite way sometimes, but how did you know that shooting me up would work?"

"There was a video in the archives of a priest doing it," Sam answered. "That's when we found the dungeon."

"So you're positive this won't kill me?"

"If I do it right."

"That's reassuring." Meg snorted. "What do you think happens to a meatsuit's soul when you do this?"

"Is she still in there?" Sam asked.

Meg shook her head. "Nah, she's long gone. She asked me to let her go about a month after Crowley started sticking his knives in me. Shame, too. I kinda liked her. She held up well the first time we got tortured by Crowley's goon back at the compound. But this pretty little body's all mine now. Guess it'll be mine permanently."

"I guess she would've died if she were still in there," he said, slumping back against the wall.

They fell silent again, Sam staring at the wall and Meg glancing around the decaying church. "You know, we could always fuck to pass the time," she joked, wiggling her eyebrows at him. He glared at her. "Oh, piss off. It was a joke. Being inside you once was enough, thanks."

"You could apologize for that," he snapped.

"Boo-hoo. I'm sorry I possessed you and hurt your widdle friends." She smiled at him. "Seriously, though, how do you breathe up there? How often do you bang your head on doorways? Trying to move around in that thing was like controlling a fucking Gundam."

Sam ignored her and rose to fiddle with the needles again, filling one with his blood. "Hour's up."

She bared her neck to him as he came toward her. "Time for my shot then, doctor? Go ahead and hit me."


	3. Hour 2

"I hate needles," Meg said as Sam drew the empty syringe out of her neck. She angrily rubbed the wound against her shoulder to lessen the sting and stared hatefully at the offending object.

"You've been through worse," he replied, walking back to place the empty one with the other supplies.

"We all have our least favorite forms of torture, Sam. Mine just happens to be needles." She watched him as he began to pace the church again. "There has to be an easier way. I could just drink the stuff." He glared at her, and she threw her palms up in a placating gesture. "Didn't mean that as a slap against your little demon-blood problem."

"How did you even know about that?" he asked, turning away from her.

Meg shrugged. "Some rumors here, some whispers there, and it wasn't hard to put the pieces together." He didn't answer, and she pursed her lips together as she stared at his back. "I'm gonna start playing I Spy again if you don't talk to me."

"Okay, fine," Sam snapped, turning around to look at her. "What was up with that little talk you and Cas had? I could hear you guys muttering while I was in the confessional."

She looked away from him and stared at the floor. "Go to Hell." Sam smirked at her and raised his eyebrows. "Shit, I don't know. He's trying to close the gates of Heaven. He's gonna be stuck up there for the rest of eternity. So there's nothing."

"Sucks for you," Sam commented.

She turned her head to glare at him. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I wish I'd never told you that unicorn crap, but I thought I was gonna die."

"Cas told me to protect you, so I did," Sam said, shrugging.

"Locking me in a little room for weeks is your definition of protection?"

"Why do you hate poetry, anyway?" Sam asked, ignoring her question. "You're a demon, sure, but I thought most girls liked that stuff."

This time, she ignored him. "Were you ever planning on telling Cas what happened to me?"

"We had bigger things to worry about," Sam said, looking away from her.

She smirked at him. "Oh, yeah. Dean got outta Purgatory and Crowley had the Godrock. Well, at least you went after Kevin eventually." She took a deep breath. "What about me? I mean, shit, I know I'm not exactly a warm, fuzzy kitten, but I did help you. Were you ever gonna come for me, or didja just think Crowley killed me?" She paused, rolling her eyes. "Or did big brother think I deserved whatever I was getting?"

"There was a lot going on, I just didn't think about it," he said.

Meg laughed. "Really? Jesus fuck, Sam. I mean, don't get me wrong, I did some pretty shitty things to you guys, but I never fucked you over like any other demons, like Ruby did. I helped you guys out a lot."

"You did those things for you," Sam spat.

"Not just for me," she muttered. Sam raised his eyebrows at her. "I did it for Castiel, too. And for you idiots."

"For us? What the Hell are you talking about?" he asked.

"You're mine," Meg answered, clenching her fists. "You guys are mine. You belong to my family first. You're not Crowley's to fuck with or kill, not Abbadon's, not any other demon's. No one touches my things."

"You sound like a four year old with their toys," he said, rolling his eyes.

"I guess Kevin's mine now, too," she rambled on. "The littlest prophet's kind of a Winchester, and Winchesters are mine. When I killed Crowley, I told him it was for you guys, too. I meant it. I'm a bit more possessive over you, since I was in you once. Ruby had no right to fuck with you."

"But you have every right to screw with us?" he said, voice laced with sarcasm.

She frowned at him. "Well, yeah. Change of subject, Sam. How'd you guys get started on these trials?"

Sam shrugged. "We killed a Hellhound."

"That was a trial? Really? Killing a Hellhound is actually pretty easy. I've done it. Your friends did it, too. They killed all my dogs."

"You were trying to kill us!"

"Hey, I offered to take you to Lucifer, remember? You guys refused, and then went to see him anyway. Tell me how that makes sense." Sam looked away, and Meg smirked. "Yeah, that's what I thought. My dogs killed your friends, and you friends killed my dogs. Fair's fair, even's even."

"That's not even close!" he said.

She smirked at him. "Okay, fine. I'm sorry your friends got killed in action when they walked into a warzone. Is this stuff working, yet? Because I've apologized twice today and I don't do that."

"Sarcastic apologizes don't count," he told her.

"Oh, goodie," she said, flashing him a smile. "Speaking of this stuff working, how does it even work? What's supposed to happen?"

"Well, according to the video, you're supposed to have a, uh, breakdown eventually." Sam rubbed the back of his neck.

"That's wonderful."

"It's supposed to make you human. It brings back human feelings like guilt and regret," he explained.

"Cas should start calling me a unicorn, then," she said. "Good luck getting that to happen, Schmendrick."

"Schmendrick?"

"Am I the only one who reads?" she scoffed, rubbing her neck into her shoulder again. "He's a wizard in a book. Turns a unicorn into a human and she gets all these human feelings."

"Y'know, possession is a two-way street. I know all your little thoughts and feelings, too."

"Not all of them," she muttered, turning her head to glance at the door of the church. "Like I said, we change and grow."

"I still remember that you had a lot of strong, human-like feelings," he said. She turned to glare at him, rattling the handcuffs angrily.

"Piss on that. Of course I have human feelings. I used to be human," she growled. "But if you think I'm gonna cry, you're delusional."

"Wait, you guys really remember being human?" he asked. "I thought Ruby was lying about that."

Meg snorted. "Well, the longer you're a demon, the less you remember. But, yeah, I remember some of it. Ruby did, too. The dirty fucking witch."

"I thought you all liked witches?"

"Hell no. They're disgusting little things, spewing fluids everywhere and having petty little revenge plots. Hexing people for looking at their husbands wrong or trying to get a lower mortgage," she spat. "Half of them don't even realize what they're praying to when they're doing serious magic, and they're so surprised when they wind up downstairs. Pretty fun to torture, though. The innocent ones always are."

"That's disgusting."

"That's how you make more demons. Of course, I never helped anyone make the transition. I'm not exactly the motherly type."

"What are you talking about?"

Meg stared at him, a frown tugging the corner of her lips down. "You guys do know how demons are made, right?"

"When a soul goes to Hell they're twisted and tortured until they become a demon. Yeah, I know that," he answered. "What does that have to do with being a mother?"

"The demon that finally breaks your soul, the one who finally helps you transition to becoming one of us, is considered your mother or father," Meg explained, staring at the wall over Sam's shoulder. "Then Lilith is considered the mother of all demons, sort of like our Eve, and Lucifer is considered the father of all demons, our God. I never had my own children."

"So, if Cas hadn't rescued Dean from Hell, that would've happened?"

"Yeah, Alastair would've been his father. Dean and I would've been family, sorta, since I apprenticed under Alastair in Hell. Kind of like cousins," she said, shifting in the chair. "My ass is falling asleep."

"Did you torture Dean when he was in Hell?"

Meg ignored him. "I think it's time to juice me up."

"Meg!"

"No, I didn't. Scout's honor," Meg told him, closing her eyes. "Alastair wouldn't let anyone else touch him. Dean was his favorite boy. He was supposed to be his perfect, special child, like I was to Azazel for a while. Alastair wanted an exclusive claim, and he got it." She opened an eye. "Now, you gonna shoot me up or what?"

Silently, Sam filled another syringe and walked up to her. "Only five more left."

She bared her neck. "I really fucking hate needles."


	4. Hour 3

"So, how long does the whole blubbering on the floor thing take?" she asked as Sam drew the needle out.

"Dunno. It took all the way 'til the last one for the demon in the video, but it probably varies from demon to demon," he answered.

"But you still have to stick me eight times?"

"Just to be sure, yeah. Don't wanna do this again."

She didn't reply, and Sam walked up to put the needle with the others. She sighed, settling back into the chair and shifting around to try to get comfortable. She hadn't lied when she'd told him her ass was falling asleep. The new skin on her back and legs itched as she shifted in the chair.

"_A face from Hell, a beautiful storm, gentle in her anger, though violence is her norm,"_ she said, breaking the silence.

"What was that?" Sam asked, turning around to look at her.

"One of Castiel's poems," she told him, rubbing her back into the chair. "None of his poetry is really good, but that was one of the better ones. You should hear the one about the honeybees. _Oh, honeybee, honeybee, in the sky. Honeybee, honeybee, fly, fly, fly."_

Sam stared at her, mouth hanging open. "You memorized them?"

"Well, they rhymed and they were short. He wrote a few down. I kept 'em, too. Couldn't say no to his puppy-dog face."

"But I thought you hated it?"

"Oh, I do. Reminds me of when I was human."

"What?"

"I told you that I remembered being human, idiot," she drawled, rolling her eyes at him. "Shit, Sam, Ruby wasn't some special widdle demon. When Lucifer got out of the Cage, we all remembered. The memories got clearer is all." She wrinkled her nose. "The dreams were the worst. First time since we were human that we all started sleeping and dreaming, and for me they were all of my human life."

"Oh, were you a poet?" he asked sarcastically.

"No, my husband was," she snapped. "He was shit at it, too, just like Castiel."

Sam gaped at her as his eyebrows drew together. "You were _married_?"

"Don't sound so surprised," she said dryly. "Getting married is what most normal people do. I was human a long time ago, and back then you had to get married if you were a woman." She turned her head to look at the wall, leaning it on the back of the chair, refusing to look at him. "It wasn't all bad, I guess."

"How much do you remember?" he asked slowly, settling down on the floor.

She closed her eyes, still facing the wall. _"Eyes as green as summer leaves, with hair the color of sunlight; she loves me through all the seasons, though never says it outright. From the bloom of spring to the last of autumn, my thoughts are always with her; in frigid winter her beauty blossoms, and never shall it wither." _A small smile came to her lips. "He was a shit poet. I found it tucked away in one of the desk drawers when I was looking for other papers. I couldn't read then and I had him recite it to me."

"Is that all you remember?"

The smile fell from her face. "No. I remember a few other things, like my mother making stew in the winter. How it smelt when she cooked it in the house. Feeding the chickens and milking the cow. My death, too. But everyone remembers what they did to wind up in the Pit and how they got there."

Sam barked out a laugh. "What, were you some sort of serial killer?"

"Innkeeper's wife," she snapped, finally turning her head to look at him.

"Then what did you do? Make a deal?"

"Our inn _was_ at a crossroad." She straightened in the chair and raised her head proudly. "I'm Azazel's daughter."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. In your messed-up demon culture he's your father."

"He's not just my father by Hell rules. He's my real father. Biologically," she explained, puffing her chest out. "He possessed my mother's husband and made me. Halfies don't get to go to Heaven. We got a one-way ticket downstairs as soon as we're born, every one of us."

"Every kid with demon blood in them, no matter what happens?" he asked.

"Yup," she answered, beaming at him. "It's not so bad. Hell is where we belong. I learned that the first time he let me off the rack and put a razor in my hand. It felt _right_. I'm not saying I didn't do bad things to land me there. I more than deserved it. My husband was a poet, but he was a mean bastard. Ever had human stew, Sam? I have."

"That's disgusting."

She shrugged. "That was life. Winters were hard, and travelers weren't exactly missed. We had four kids to feed. Oh, he felt bad. I didn't, eventually. Figured that was the demon blood, once I got downstairs and learned about it. Ever seen Sweeney Todd? Good show." He frowned at her, and she bared her teeth at him, remembering the way her children had smiled at her when she'd finally been able to set food on the table in front of them, and the way her husband had stared, unseeing, into the tree lines as they buried the bodies.

She could almost smell the dirt as they dug up the yard to get rid of the parts they hadn't been able to eat, could almost hear the bones snap as she cracked them open for the marrow. The smell of the stew, so much like pork, as it simmered over the fire.

"How did you die?" Sam asked, breaking her from the memories. She blinked and inhaled the smell of the church to ground herself. The smell of rotting wood and mold brought her back, drawing her away from her inn at the crossroads and back to the decaying building.

"Childbirth," she said, inhaling deeper to steady herself. After a moment, she shut her eyes and let the memories draw her back to the inn of her human life. "The last baby hit hard. I had four children that lived, but I'd been pregnant nine times altogether. Pregnancy number ten wasn't fun." As she spoke, the memories of her death came clearer to her mind than they had in years, propelled by the human blood running through her.

"The little bastard had something wrong with it." She squeezed her legs together in the chair, almost able to feel the pain as she pushed and pushed, trying to force the child from her body and into the waiting hands of the midwives. With the memories coming clearer to her mind than they had in years, the smell of blood filled her nose. She pressed her legs together tighter. "When I finally got it out it didn't cry at all, and I kept bleeding and bleeding. It should've been an easy birth since I'd had so many. Something or other got backed up or turned around. If I went to a doctor now they could probably tell me what the Hell it was.

"I kept bleeding, and they couldn't get the thing to breathe." She could see it, the midwife shouting and rushing, handing the silent baby to her husband while the one crouched between her spread legs barked an order. The blood smelt heavy in her memory, and she could feel her head hit the pillow as she slumped back in her chair, eyes closed. "When I opened my eyes, I was on the rack, and Azazel was telling me how long he'd been waiting for me, his special child."

She opened her eyes to look at him, uncrossing her legs as the memories slipped from her again. Sam stared with wide eyes, and she laughed. "What? Did you think I made a deal and got dragged down by the Hellhounds? That I went out the door of my inn, walked into the middle of those crossroads, and summoned a demon to bring the poor, dead thing back to life? I had an embarrassingly ordinary death. Bled out in the birthing bed.

"There are some things I don't remember, of course. I still don't know my human name."

"I thought you couldn't forget your true name," Sam said, leaning back to rest against the wall.

"I said human name, not true name," she snapped. "I told you, Azazel was my father. He gave me my true name in the Pit."

"What is it?"

"Like I'd be stupid enough to tell you."

"If Meg isn't your real name, why do you use it?" he asked.

"Well, you idiots kept shouting it at me, so I figured I'd keep it. Plus, I liked it. Demons fall into patterns sometimes. I've been stealing Megs for a while, even before the Masters body," she explained. "You didn't think Ruby's true name was Ruby, right? She'd only been going by that for ten years or so by the time she hopped on you."

"What was her real name?"

"That's not mine to tell," Meg huffed. "You probably know it, though. You spent time with the big daddy in the Cage, and he liked to call us by our real names."

Sam turned away to fiddle with the needles, muttering to himself. "It's time for the next one," he told her.

"Aw, Hell. I really hate these things," she muttered as he gently moved her head and plunged the needle into her neck.


	5. Hour 4

_Sorry about the mix-up._

* * *

"Hey, what was it like?" she asked when Sam drew the needle out.

"What was what like?"

"What was having Lucifer in your head like?" She looked up at him, her eyes filled with caution.

"It was horrible," Sam said, placing the empty syringe with the others.

"But you were with him. You were one with God," she whispered reverently, a slight smile coming to her face. "Do you what we would've done for that? It must have been amazing, having him in you. All that power."

"He's the devil, not God," Sam snapped.

"Devil is your word, not ours," she said. "Lucifer created our race, first Lilith and then all the rest. He is our God." She lowered her eyes. "Did he ever say anything? About me? Or any of us?"

"No," Sam answered, focusing on the wall.

Meg smiled again. "I thought not."

"He was planning to kill all of you."

She laughed. "I know. Cas told me, back in Carthage."

"Then why did you follow him?"

"He's God," she answered, staring at him. "He made us. It's his right to destroy us or keep us. Anyway, I knew already he wanted us all six feet under, even before Carthage."

"How?"

"It was written," she told him. She snorted when he raised his eyebrows at her. "We have a scripture, same as you humans. Lilith always knew she was going down. _And it is written_-"

"_That the first demon shall be the last seal,"_ Sam finished. "Ruby told me the same thing."

"'Course she did. She was in demon Sunday school with the rest of us. Damn devoted, too."

"Do they really sit you all down somewhere in Hell and do that?"

"Not like you're thinking. It's just something we all learn eventually. I got bits of it when I was on the rack, and Azazel told me other bits on Hell. I learned most of it when we were on Earth. It isn't really written down anywhere, but everyone who followed Lucifer knew it. Still knows it. Just me now, I guess," she explained. "It says that Lucifer will remake the world after he destroyed it. I kinda figured that we were part of the destroying and remaking part, or we would all go on to paradise or something. Shit, I don't know."

"You still followed him?"

"He's God," she repeated, rolling her eyes. "Can't make it any clearer than that. It was written that he would bring Hell to Earth and then take us all to Heaven. Always kinda figured that you had to be, y'know, dead to get there."

"So if he rose from the Cage right now, you would still follow him?" Sam asked.

Meg hesitated. "Yes. No. I don't know. Two or three years ago I would've told you it wasn't my place to question God. Now? That jamba juice must be working if I'm doubting him." She shifted in the chair and looked at him again. "You guys are in it, you know. Sort of."

"What do you mean we're in it?"

"You and Dean. Not by name, but it fits you. _And it is written, that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. As he breaks, so shall it break,"_ she recited. "We all thought it was gonna be your dad, when he made that little deal to save your brother. But the man just wouldn't break. Then your brother booked himself a one-way ticket downstairs and we all just _knew _it was going to be him. We felt it. You're a bit more specific."

"Lucifer's vessel, I know."

"Well, your mom's more specific, anyway," she corrected.

"My mother's in the demon bible?"

"_From the name of the virgin the true vessel shall be born, and He will be made flesh to walk the Earth,"_ she quoted. "Your mom was a Mary, right?"

"Yeah."

She nodded. "It happened as it was written, right up until you refused to step up to the plate. Azazel spent all that time trying to get you ready, too."

"Ready to be the vessel?"

"Ready to be the King," she said gently. "You were supposed to be our Boy King of Hell, Azazel's favorite."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, I know."

"But then you went and screwed that up. At least Lilith followed the ceremony."

"There was supposed to be a ceremony?"

"Sort of. It was just supposed to be all official, and when Lucifer rose you would accept him right away," Meg explained. "Lilith was all dressed up, right?"

"She kinda looked like she was going to prom," Sam said. "She had a, a white dress on."

Meg shrugged. "Makes sense. White's her color. _And so Adam's wife was cast from the garden and into the fire. The Lightbringer took her for his own, and in the fire her soul burned white and pure and fell away. Through the mother came the old ones._

"_Through them came the children, souls blackened by their sins. And they said unto the children, you shall be the agents of our Lord, and through you His will shall be done. Through our work he shall rise again, to deliver you unto Heaven and remake the world in his image," _she recited, closing her eyes again. "It's a load of bullshit, of course. Well, some parts are true. No way to know, really. All the old ones are dead."

"That's…a lot more extensive than I thought," he said. "You ever thought about writing it down? Maybe when this is all over?"

"Why? You can't use it to fight demons. They'll all be locked downstairs."

"For history's sake. I mean, that's what the Men of Letters were originally," he told her. "If all the demons are locked down in Hell then when you die you'll take all that with you and no one will ever know it."

"Men of Letters?" she asked.

"They were a secret society. They documented supernatural knowledge and rituals. The bunker was their secret base and library, kind of," he explained.

"Your little nerd bunker needs demon scripture?"

"You never know what'll come in handy," he said, shrugging. "They have the history of all kinds of creatures in there, and objects and stuff. They documented history."

"You're still a nerd, Sam. I remember that from being in your head, but I didn't think you kept up with that," she said, laughing. "Sure, why the fuck not. You want a demon scripture for your little history books when you write down all this crap? I'll give you the demon book."

His lips twitched. "Really?"

"Yeah, sure. Be a nice little bedtime story for the baby hunters." She glanced at the window. "I think it's time for another shot."


	6. Hour 5

"You should drink some juice or something," she said, watching Sam lean heavily on the wall. "Seriously, why do you think they give cookies and juice to people who donate blood? You can't be feeling healthy right now."

"Shut up, Meg," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm serious, Sam. You look kinda gross."

"Why do you even care?" he asked.

"You're my boys," she told him, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah, you said that already. Doesn't explain why you care about my health."

"It's true. I'm the only one who gets to screw with you and Deano," she reminded him.

"Yeah, and you screwed with us a lot," Sam muttered.

Meg sighed. "I wouldn't hurt you, not really. Well, not much. You're my brother, Sam."

"What the Hell are you talking about?" he snapped.

Meg barked a laugh. "Really? Azazel's blood. Azazel's children. His blood is in me, and in you, too. That makes you family, sort of. Our Boy King and my brother. You of all people should get that only family is allowed to screw with family."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, it does. You were one of his special children. I was one of his blood children. Dean would've been Alastair's boy, so he would've been like my cousin, kind of. Family, in a way. Then, when you were good and ready to take up the reigns, I would've followed you," she said.

Sam made a face. "Thanks, I guess?"

"You're welcome." They fell silent for a couple of minutes, Meg watching Sam breathing evenly and rubbing his arm where he'd drawn his blood out. "This stuff must be working, because I want to keep babbling."

"What's with you and Cas?" Sam probed.

"Shut up," she muttered, looking away as her face heated.

"Are you blushing?" Sam asked. She glared at him and he laughed.

"Shit. That crap really is working," she muttered. "I told you what was up with Cas and me. The whole unicorn thing."

"How did that even happen?" Sam asked. "The only time you guys were together was the hospital, and he was asleep for most of it."

"It was enough time," she muttered. "I'd wanted him for a while, though. Since Carthage. He tricked me into that circle of holy fire and got close enough to kiss me before he threw me down into the flames. It was wonderful."

"That's screwed up."

"I'm a demon, Sam. We like fucked up and we like pain. The dominance. The savagery." She shifted in her chair, rolling her wrists in the cuffs. "He pulled a dirty trick just like a demon. I wanted him. In the hospital he was…different." She pressed her lips together, remembering the way Castiel had touched her face after he'd woken up. She'd expected screaming, expected him to call her an abomination and try to burn her out of her vessel.

Instead, his fingers had been gentle as they patted her cheeks and combed through her hair when he moved it to examine her ears and the sides of her head where she was sure he could see her horns. He'd squinted at her like a child faced with a difficult puzzle as he ran a finger over her lips, where she knew he could see her true face's pointed teeth peeking from her charred skin.

She'd frozen at the first touch, then relaxed and allowed him to continue his exploration, not wanting to provoke him. After a few moments, she was leaning into his hands, enjoying the first gentle touch she'd felt since she was human. The first gentle touch she'd felt without conditions, or the promise of pain to follow, since she was cast into the Pit.

Without knowing why, she'd tucked his poems away in a pocket of her jacket, along with a scribbled drawing he'd done of her, the Winchesters, and himself, surrounded by honeybees. They were still tucked away in that pocket back at the bunker, the words slightly smudged by bloodstains and the paper creased from repeated folding.

"Is he yours, too, or did you kill Hester because you love him?" Sam asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

"A little of both, maybe," she answered. "He is mine. Hester had no right. Yeah, he fucked up, but so has everyone else. That's what you should call yourselves. Team Fuckup."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, funny."

"I think so." She smiled at him. "He's a good kid. Plus, all that God shit and mass murder really gets a girl going. He reminds me of Lucifer, sometimes. Only better."

"He's not anything like Lucifer," Sam snapped.

"He fell. He rebelled and disobeyed, just like the Big Daddy did. Only difference is that Castiel did it because he loves humans," she said. "He's powerful, and he played God, just like Lucifer did. You can feel his Grace when you touch him, almost too much for that pretty vessel of his. He's not planning on smiting me, either. That's a big plus."

"Isn't the whole angel and demon thing kind of, uh, wrong?" he asked.

"You act like he and I are the first time an angel and a demon have wanted to get it on," she huffed. "It isn't common, but it has happened a few times. More than a few times."

"I can't believe Heaven would let that happen," Sam muttered.

"They're not always watching, and you can hide from them," she said. "Anyway, I'm a demon. We like wrong and sinful and all that shit, remember? Besides, with Cas going back up top, nothing's gonna happen. Shame, he could've come to Disney with us. Imagine him on The Runaway Train or the Teacups. Think he'd puke? Or is that one of those undignified things angels don't do?"

"What is it with you and Disney?" he asked.

"It's the happiest place on Earth," she answered. "Nah, it's just one of the few things I've never done. Been around a long time, Sam. Did you guys think the hospital was my first time playing nurse? I spent most of World War Two doing that shit, just for fun. Well, that and making sure any hunters who happened to be there didn't make it home.

"Movies? Shit, I was there when those first came out. Surfing? Done it. Scuba? Done it. Mountain climbing? Dirt biking? Hog wrangling? Cow tipping? Done 'em all."

"Cow tipping, really? Isn't that below a demon?"

"I was some shit teenage boy in some buttfuck nowhere farm town and it sounded fun." She shrugged. "Actually, trenching the guy's yard was fun. I possessed his mother and got the kids some vodka beforehand. Caused this huge accident driving home and it killed 'em all. Good times. Well, for me."

"You're horrible," Sam said, leaning away from her.

"Demon. That's what we're supposed to do," she pointed out. "It was an assignment from dad to do it. Said he needed some blood spilled for something or other. Then he sent me on a nice vacation. Spent fifty years body-hopping in Hawaii for it. Just laid on the beach, drank daiquiris, screwed surfer boys, and tried on every meatsuit that took my fancy. Had some pretty ones then. Pretty beaches, too. We should go there after Disney. Bring Kevin."

"You want to bring Kevin on your reminisce your evil trip?" Sam chucked, rolling his eyes at her.

"Kid could probably use a vacation. You're closing the gates, anyway. He doesn't have anything to translate. Let him have a little fun, get drunk by the ocean. Puke up too much cotton candy after getting off a roller coaster. You know, the human experience," she said.

"He'll go back to school," Sam told her.

Meg rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure. You think that kid's gonna just pack up and go back to a normal life? That worked out for you and Dean great."

"Shut up, Meg!"

"You think he won't be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life, thinking something's gonna come after him? You think he won't be laying down salt lines just in case or carrying around holy water or iron with him? You think he's not gonna be screwed up from it? Shit, Sam, Crowley tortured him. I know what that's like. He's lucky that he got out," she continued, ignoring him. "I read the books, remember? What did Dean say? That there's only one way you leave the life, or something?"

"Not him. He'll be fine," Sam insisted.

Meg snorted. "He won't. But at least he'll be alive. More than you can say for everyone else who's gotten involved with you guys. Hell, I almost didn't make it."

Sam glared at her and stalked over to the syringes, filling another one with his blood. This time, he jerked her head to the side roughly before plunging the needle into her neck. She glared back at him, lips curling into a snarl.


	7. Hour 6

Sam ignored her, fiddling with the needles. Meg glared at his back, fists tightening on the armrests of the chair. Blowing a breath out of her nose, she cracked her neck and relaxed, uncurling her hands. "I always wondered how my kids bit it or what happened to 'em. They were dead by the time I clawed my way topside after I got off the rack. Never saw 'em in Hell, either. They shoulda come downstairs since they were quarter-demon, but I guess they went to Heaven. The inn was gone when I went up, too. Guess none of them wanted to keep it."

When he continued to ignore her, she stuck her tongue out at his back like she'd done when she was a child, or needed to get Castiel to laugh and open his mouth at the hospital. "My husband wound up downstairs, though. He developed a taste for picking off people after that one winter. It was refreshing when he stopped crying and manned up." She laughed, remembering how her husband had finally developed a taste for killing.

The first time he'd stopped weeping and had brought her down to the basement where he had a guest tied up and gagged, his throat neatly slit, she'd wanted to run from the room. Killing to feed her children was one thing; killing for the enjoyment of it was something she'd never done. Still, he'd told her to help him haul the body upstairs and bury it in the vegetable patch, and she'd done it.

She could still remember the smell of the summer air as they dug in the moonlight, and the way the mud had clung to the hem of her dress. "I barely remembered him by the time he made it downstairs, though. He got caught burying a body one night without me and they hanged him, the bastard. Deserved it, since he wasn't being carefully enough. His poetry still sucked, too. _Muddy ground and moonlit woods, the scent of death is always here; it clings to her like fine perfume, in her clothes and in her hair. _Idiot."

Sam turned to look at her, clearly uncomfortable. "Shut up, Meg."

"Oh, am I making you uncomfortable? Good," she spat. "Least I can do after what you assholes did to me."

"What did we do to you?" Sam snapped. "All you've done is screw us over, and then prattle on about how we're some sort of messed up family."

Meg inhaled sharply and sat upright in the chair, hands curling into fists. "Those were orders. I told you, I never really wanted to hurt you. I was plenty good to you guys after, anyway."

"That doesn't cancel it out," he said, glaring at her. She slumped in the chair and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," Meg said quietly, looking at the floor.

"What did you just say?"

Meg's head snapped up and her eyes widened in horror. "What?" They stared at each other, eyes equally wide. "Shit. Shit, no."

"What about Ellen and Jo?" Sam pressed, walking closer to her. "You killed them. Your Hellhounds tore her apart and almost got us all killed. What would've happened to your grand plan then?"

"They wouldn't have killed _you_," she growled. "I didn't kill your friends. They blew themselves up taking out my dogs. I offered to bring you to Lucifer, but you idiots ran away. Wound up seeing my father anyway, didn't you? That worked out great, huh?"

"You set the dogs on us. You pretty much killed them," he countered. "You killed a lot of people who were friends of ours or who were innocent. You've been talking about it the whole time."

"Do you want another apology?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. "I'm sorry, Sam. Really. No sarcasm."

"Good," he bit out, backing away from her a little.

Meg clenched her teeth together. "Okay, Moose. Your turn. Then we all get to be a big, happy family who doesn't keep things bottled up inside."

"I don't have anything to apologize for," he huffed.

"Are you shitting me?" she growled, pulling at her bindings. Meg's eyes filled with black as she focused on him, her anger rolling off her. Zig-zag cracks appeared in the windows of the church as the floor rattled, breaking the devil's trap when the floorboards cracked and shifted along with the windows.

"Are you shitting me?" she repeated, screeching at him. "I was tortured repeatedly because of you two! I kept Castiel safe for you assholes! I saved your brother's life in that convince store! I could've killed you how many times and I didn't? I killed my own kind for you! You two _killed my father and locked m God up and I still helped you!" _She sagged in her bonds, her chest heaving as she stared at him. With the trap broken, her feet scrambled on the floor as she tried to stand and she tugged at the cuffs, trying to lunge at him.

"Do you know what Crowley did to me? Do you?" she yelled. "You know what it's like, Sam. _You know._ You were in the Cage with Lucifer. You know what it's like to be tortured constantly by someone who knows what they're doing. Day in and day out and I still never betrayed my fathers."

She laughed bitterly when Sam stared at her, eyes slowly fading back to brown. "I was so stupid. I thought that one of you sons of bitches might come help me. You or Castiel would burst through that door guns a blazin' and help me go out fighting. You should've let me die in that alley; at least I would've gone out like a demon, like a _soldier."_

She snarled at him. "Do you wanna know what I looked like under my clothes when you saved me from that bathroom? How much flesh was missing from my back, my thighs? You wanna know what pieces of myself I had to eat? Or how about getting my head dunked in bleach? Let me tell you, that was one a trip." She laughed again, and then took a few short breaths.

"The things I had to do, Sam. The things he did to me. Oh, it was fun for the first couple of months, but then it got boring. When I got bored, he got creative. Called in all sorts of people. You know what it's like, you know, and you left me there!" Her voice softened, and she sniffed. "You left me. Even after I saved your asses, _you still left me."_

Sam stared as she let out a choked sob, a few tears sliding down her face. In her anger, half of her hair had come loose from the elastic, the tangled mess sticking to her face and neck. There was blood on her collar from the needle wounds, and her wrists were bruised and cut from her repeated tugging on the sigil-covered handcuffs.

She looked tiny. She looked broken. She looked _human._

"It's working," he whispered, walking over to prepare another needle.

Meg's head snapped up, and she snarled at him, angrily blinking the tears out of her eyes. "What the fuck just happened, Winchester?"

"It's working. You're changing."

"Screw that. You keep that damn thing away from me." He walked closer, and she growled at him. "I mean it."

Sam gently turned her head to the side and plunged the needle in. As he drew his hand away, she turned her head, snake-quick, and sunk her teeth into his arm, drawing blood. "Biting, Meg? Seriously?" he yelped, pulling his arm out of her reach.

Meg spat at him, the blood landing in a small puddle near his feet to soak the floorboards. She growled at him then, baring her stained teeth. "I changed my mind about drinking it. Your blood tastes like shit."


	8. Hour 7

Meg's eyes slid to black again as Sam paced around the church, repeatedly checking his watch. She tried to focus her powers to call him to her so she could bite or kick him again, growling in anger when she couldn't. "You're a dick," she announced. "You, Dean, Cas, all of you. Let me out of this chair."

"No," Sam said calmly, peering out the cracked windows. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

"Guess Dean was right to cuff me down. If he hadn't, I would jump outta this chair and strangle you," she told him. Sam raised his eyebrows at her and smiled, walking to stand just out of her reach.

"Good luck with that. I saw you crying a couple of minutes ago," he said. Meg lunged for him, blood running down her wrists as she strained at the cuffs. She snarled as the chair fell over, trapping her underneath it.

"Fuck you."

Sam walked behind her and pulled the chair back into position roughly. "We already decided not to do that."

Sam retreated to the opposite side of the room and returned with a can of spray paint. Meg watched him re-draw the devil's trap around her, still tugging at her bonds. "I'm an idiot. I should've let you do this to Crowley and had a last roll in the sheets with Cas before I got slammed back downstairs."

"Yeah, and get tortured for eternity," Sam said dryly.

"Maybe not. With Crowley gone, there's gonna be a huge power grab for the throne. Since you didn't kill Abbadon, she's going back down, too. All I'd have to do is throw in with her and I'd probably come out on the winning side," Meg said. "Course, there'll be a shitload of fighting before that happens and everything settles down nice and proper." Meg took a deep breath and blew it out through her nose. "Hell's gonna be even worse after you guys shut everyone else in."

"Hell's Hell. It can't get any worse," Sam told her.

Meg huffed and raised her eyebrow at him. "All the demons trapped down there, unable to get out? Shit, Sam, what do you think is gonna happen? You know demons, we hate each other for the most part. I loved my family, but the rest of them are scum, and that's the mindset of every one of us. No way to kill each other, either? It is gonna be a bloodbath until the end of the universe.

"Unless, of course, closing the gates kills every demon. If that happens, Hell's gonna be awfully boring until people start going back down there again."

"If the gates are closed, people aren't going down there," Sam said.

"What, so everyone gets an automatic pass to Heaven? Doubt it." Meg rolled her eyes. "You're just keeping things from getting back out, not going in. You know what Castiel said to me? He told me to find him when my soul goes to Heaven, which is bullshit."

"Bullshit how?" Sam asked.

"I'm still a demon's daughter. I still have Azazel's blood in me, literally. I was born for Hell, he always said so once I got there and he put me up on his rack. He waited for me for almost forty years and worked on me for another couple hundred before he gave me my name and called me his daughter," she said softly.

"Maybe not," Sam said. "I mean, I have demon blood in me, and I didn't go to Hell when I died."

"You're a Winchester and a hunter, one of God's chosen," she pointed out. "Of course he wouldn't send you down to Hell if he could help it."

"All I'm saying is that maybe it's not true." Sam rolled his shoulders and gestured toward her. "I mean, you killed people, and you were a cannibal. What if that's what landed you in Hell, not being a cambion? That could be why your children didn't go to Hell."

Meg shook her head. "Azazel told me it was because I was his daughter."

"Maybe he lied," Sam suggested.

"Not to me," Meg snapped. "He loved his children." They stared at each other, and Meg was the one to break eye contact. "Even if he was lying, it doesn't matter. I still did a lot of bad shit. I still don't deserve Heaven."

Sam settled on the floor. "Maybe it will be different. You did help us out, that has to count for something toward redemption. This could be a blank slate."

"Still a demon's kid," she repeated. "Still tainted."

Sam hesitated. "These trials, with every one we've finished, I feel more…pure."

"You think they're fixing you." Meg chuckled. "Oh, boy. You think you're tainted and they're fixing you."

"Yeah," he said. "Not just me, either. You're gonna be human. A shiny, new soul and everything."

Meg laughed, doubling over in her chair. Her hair spilled over her knees as she pressed her forehead to them, her whole body shaking. She sat back up, gasping for air, her laugher finally settling down into dry chuckles.

"Azazel's kids becoming good little angels. Lord, take me now," she gasped. Her anger drained as she looked at Sam and started laughing again.

A slight smile came to Sam's face, and he raised his hand over his mouth to hide it. "Knock it off, Meg."

She smiled back at him. "Shylah."

"What?"

"It's my name. I figured I might as well tell you, since we're being all touchy-feely," she told him. "Azazel called me Shylah. It's Celtic. Means loyal to God."

"Shylah," he repeated.

"Don't you start calling me that," she ordered softly. She took another deep breath. "You're my brother, but we're not that close. Anyway, that life's over. I'll stick with Meg. I like it."

"Okay, Meg then," Sam agreed.

"Good."

"Almost time for the last shot," he said, shifting a little on the ground. "You feel human yet?"

Meg rolled her neck and glanced away. "I don't know what feeling human's like," she pointed out. "But I don't feel angry at you anymore. Just different."

"Different how?" he asked.

Meg shrugged. "Drained. Hollow."

Sam got to his feet unsteadily, wobbling a bit as he walked over to the syringes. "That's probably a good sign."

"I don't know if I want this or not," she told him, staring at the syringe. "I like being a demon. I liked the things I did, the destruction and the murder. I liked them when I was human. Azazel always told me I was born to be a demon, and I believed him. I still do. But I feel odd. Like I want that last shot. But I still-" Her voice broke off and she looked away from him, blinking rapidly.

Sam laughed. "You're afraid."

"Never," she said softly, turning back to him. "Just don't like going into things blind." She cracked her neck turned it to the side. "C'mon, dealer. Hit me."


	9. Hour 8

"Is that it?" Meg asked as Sam drew the needle out.

"We can wait a little while for the last step," Sam said, walking back to place the empty needle with the others.

"But no more needles, right?"

"Yeah, no more needles," Sam answered. He chuckled dryly. "I'll never understand this thing with you and needles."

"They're annoying," she told him, shifting slightly in the chair. "So, what are we gonna do after this?"

"I thought we were going to Disneyland or the beach."

"No, I mean right after," she corrected. "Like, after you uncuff me from this chair and I'm a weak little human. I was thinking pancakes or French toast. Something greasy and disgusting and bad for my newly-human body."

Sam smiled at her. "We could do that." He hesitated and then picked up the knife. "What are you gonna do? I was serious about you hunting."

"I think it's time to sit still for a while," she told him. "Find a place to just hunker down for a bit and be lazy. I'm tired of running for my life. For now at least."

"You know, we never did go to California," he said, walking toward her chair.

Meg laughed. "You remember that, huh?"

"Hard to forget when you've been in my head," he answered.

"Fuck it. Let's go to California. You can drive," she said, laughing again. "We can hit the beach and eat greasy diner food and maybe not die."

"Sounds like a plan." Placing the knife on his palm, Sam looked at her. "You ready?"

"Yes." She eyed the knife. "No. I don't know. Shit, Sam, you're about to change my species." Meg laughed and rolled her head. "It's like you're my dad now, rebirth and all that shit. Congratulations, Daddy."

"I won't call you Shylah if you don't call me dad," he joked.

"Deal." Meg heaved a deep breath. "Give me a minute and get outta my face for a second." Sam's eyebrows drew together in confusion but he complied, strolling over to the other side of the church. Squeezing her eyes shut, Meg bowed her head and began to mutter to herself.

Sam gripped the edge of the altar and tried to ignore Meg's muttering. He heard the words Azazel and Lucifer, but the rest of it was in a language he didn't know. "You done?" he asked when she stopped.

"Yeah," she answered.

"What were you doing?"

She smiled at him and cracked her neck. "Wouldn't you like to know? A girl has to have some secrets. C'mon, Sam. Let's get it over with. Plant one on me, Dad."

Sam blew out a breath and walked into the devil's trap, sliding Ruby's knife over his palm. "Alright, Shylah. _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_," he started. Meg coughed and began to shake in her bonds as she gasped for breath. Sam stared as her chest heaved and tears began to leak from her eyes. "_Hanc animam redintegra!"_

"Do it Sam," she gasped out. Black filled her eyes and she fixed her gaze on him. "Just fucking do it."

"Sammy, wait!" Dean shouted, bursting through the door.

"_Lustra! Lustra!" _he shouted, ignoring Dean. Meg began to scream and Sam slapped his bloody hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds. "_Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr!"_ Meg screamed louder and writhed in her bonds as a crash sounded outside, her eyes fading back to brown.

The church shook, throwing Sam and Dean to the floor. Lightening flashed, illuminating Meg's face as she screamed and thrashed in her bonds, throwing her head back like she was trying to escape her vessel.

Meg stopped screaming as the shaking stopped. She slumped in the chair and took shallow breaths, struggling to get air into her lungs. "You're not dead," Dean said, getting to his feet. Sam shakily tried to follow him and fell to his knees on the floor of the church.

"Meg?" he asked, looking toward her. "It worked, right?" Meg raised her head and nodded slowly.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Sam, I feel really weird." Meg coughed and turned her head. Heaving, she threw up onto the floor of the church and took in another shaky breath. "Fuck."

"That's disgusting," Dean said.

"You're so not invited to our Disney trip," she said weakly. Dean walked over and helped Sam to his feet. "You wanna let me out?"

"Sure," Sam muttered. Stumbling over to the chair, he unlocked the handcuffs and let them dangle from the arms. "Can you walk?"

"I'unno," she answered. Bracing herself on the arms of the chair, Meg got to her feet, her legs shaking. She stumbled, nearly falling back into the chair, and Sam reached out and grabbed her arms to steady her. Running his hands down her bare arms to grasp her hands, he squeezed them for a moment before he began walking backwards, trying to tug her with him.

Meg tugged back, staying rooted to the spot until he was at arm's length from her, still gripping her hands. "We can't go anywhere if you don't walk out of the trap," he pointed out. Dropping her hands, Sam took another few steps back. "You want some pancakes or not?"

She took a shallow breath and began to move slowly, her entire body shaking as she did. Gooseflesh sprang up on her skin, but Meg ignored it, nearly smiling at the ability to feel cold for the first time in thousands of years.

She paused at the edge of the devil's trap and stared at Sam. He raised his eyebrows at her while Dean stared at the two of them, face twisted in confusion. Meg gulped and took the final two steps out of the devil's trap and toward Sam, pausing less than half a foot away from him.

"Holy shit," she breathed, a laugh bubbling in her throat. "You did it, Boy King." Meg's legs gave out and folded under her, pitching her toward Sam. She fisted her hands into the front of his shirt to keep herself from sliding to the floor as Sam grabbed her under her elbows to hold her up. Meg let her exhaustion wash over her and pressed her forehead to his chest, eyes drooping. "I don't think I can walk anymore."

"What the Hell is going on?" Dean asked, staring at the two of them. Shuffling closer so she was pressed against him, Meg turned her head and smirked.

"Just a bit of family bonding," she said. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna take your soulmate from you."

Dean opened his mouth to reply when the church shook again. "What the Hell?" he repeated. "I thought it worked."

"It did!" Meg shouted over the rumbling. The church shook again and the three of them staggered. Meg dug her hands harder into Sam's shirt. "Is it Castiel?"

"Shit. Outside!" Dean barked, running for the door. Bending down, Sam scooped Meg up and followed Dean out the door. The wind whipped her hair around her face as they reached the Impala.

The sky lit up and the three of them raised their faces, stunned, as balls of light hurtled toward the Earth. "You idiot. What did you do?" Meg breathed. Dean slid to the ground and Sam followed, pressing his back against the Impala and gripping Meg tighter.

"The angels," Dean said, staring at the sky. "They're falling."

Extracting herself from Sam's arms, Meg took a shaky step before her legs gave out. Digging her hands into the dirt, he looked over her shoulder back at Sam, and absurdly felt tears well in her eyes. She turned her face back to the sky and shook her head to clear them.

In stunned silence, they watched the angels fall.


End file.
